


Harry Potter And The Dark Legion

by Torak (awmperry)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awmperry/pseuds/Torak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up where HBP left off, this (eventually) novel-length fic covers Harry's seventh year in the magical world. Probably my most ambitious story yet, and packed with little nods to external sources, just like the annotations in Pratchett's Discworld novels. Rated PG-13 for now, but I may change the rating depending on how future chapters go.<br/>This is NOT being regularly updated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are very much appreciated - as is constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.

##  **Chapter 1 – The End**

The three sat in silence under the tree by the lake for some time before they eventually started walking back towards the white tomb. The chairs were deserted now, except for a few mourning stragglers; the hulking forms of Hagrid and Grawp had lumbered halfway around the lake, and most of the remainder had wandered off through the grounds.

As they walked along, Ron and Hermione walking close together and Harry staring blankly at the ground with his hands thrust firmly into his pockets, Ginny approached from the seating area.

"You keep going, we'll catch up," she said quietly to Ron and Hermione as she passed. "I need to talk to Harry." Hermione managed a wan smile in response; Ron just nodded, and they continued towards the gates.

"Harry." Her tone was grim, and while the fire was gone from her eyes her face was still firmly set. "You're not getting rid of me."

"I have to," he mumbled after a pause, not looking up. "I've told you why. You wouldn't be safe." He didn't add _"First Sirius, now Dumbledore... I don't want you to be next,"_ but the miserable look on his face as he avoided her gaze pretty much covered it.

"I don't care." She spoke quietly, still as eerily calm as earlier. But as Harry glanced doubtfully at her she flared up. "I don't! Harry, do I bloody look as if I care? If..." She pulled herself together with a visible effort. "Look, I've been waiting for you for four years. I finally get you, and you want to clear off?"

"It's the only way to keep you safe," he said glumly.

"No way, I'm staying with you. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "as things are I guess I'll be just as safe with you as anywhere else." She came to a halt, watching Harry.

Harry walked on a few steps from where she had stopped. Then he turned round and looked at her before suddenly flopping down on the ground. He leaned back on the grass and lay there staring up at the clouds.

"Yeah."

It was barely a whisper, and was accompanied by a deep, long sigh that seemed to sum the whole situation up perfectly. Ginny walked closer and sat down beside him, looking with concern into his drawn face.

"Yeah, you probably are." He folded his arms behind his head, and all the air seemed to go out of him. "Oh, bollocks to the world."

Ginny said nothing, but reached out and gently touched his elbow. When Harry finally spoke again, the fury and sadness was apparent, even though his voice just sank and he remained just as still.

"Damn it, every time something goes right for me, something else comes along to mess it up. I come to Hogwarts; I almost get eaten by a troll, a bloody great basilisk, and a couple of dozen dragons. I win the Tri-Wizard; Cedric gets slaughtered by Voldemort because of me. I get that prophecy; Sirius dies. I get you, and..." He noticed a miniscule tear welling up in the corner of his eye and wiped it away with an embarrassed flick of the hand. "You didn't see that."

Ginny just smiled, and wiped away the next one.

"You've still got me. And I'm staying. I'm going with you, wherever it is you're going."

"You can't, Ginny. It's too..."

"It's not too dangerous. Look, I'm not letting you go and get killed without me. I mean..." She flushed.

"Yeah." Harry finally smiled, then reached up and stroked her shoulder. "I know what you mean. You're sure, though? This is Voldemort we're talking about." He pointed at the tomb. "Next time it could be you up there."

"I know." She was deadly serious now, clutching his hand to her shoulder and with the hard, resolved look back on her face. "But I'm staying."

"But if Voldemort tries to get at me through you..."

"He'll try anyway."

"He doesn't know how much you m..."

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Ginny was starting to get angry, though she kept her voice low. "We haven't exactly been discreet, have we? Kissing me in front of the whole house — I'm not complaining, mind you, that was about time — didn't stay quiet for long, and mooning around by the lake all those mornings meant even the Slytherins couldn't miss us!"

Harry reddened.

"I suppose so."

"So how many people do you think could have got that to You-Know-Who? Apart from Snape and Malfoy, I mean?" Her expression softened at the wince her comment about Snape had elicited. "Sorry."

"Well... anyone related to a Death Eater, I guess. Oh, you're right, I know. But still..."

"They know we're... involved. Do you think You-Know-Who cares whether you think you've broken up with me or not?"

"No, I sup..."

"He'll come after us both, sooner or later." And then, wrapping her arms around him, she put in the clincher. "And when he comes after me, I'd much rather you were with me. Or vice versa."

Harry sat up and kissed her gently, then helped her to her feet.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I don't want it to be you on that slab either."

He looked at her oddly for a moment, then put his arm around her shoulders and started back for the castle.

"Okay." She pulled him to her as they walked back towards the gates. After a moment, she glanced at him.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Since when do you say 'bollocks'?"

Harry emitted a sound that might have been half a chuckle.

"Sorry. I'm just... I'm a bit out of sorts. Didn't mean for you to hear that."

"Don't be sorry," Ginny grinned, squeezing him with the arm she had around his waist. "It's a good word."

When they got to where Ron and Hermione were waiting, they found them sitting on a stack of trunks and suitcases, holding hands. Seeing this, Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Holding hands? This is news, isn't it?"

"Well, you know..." Ron began, reddening, but was interrupted by Hermione, who obviously had no interest in letting that train of enquiry continue.

"We got your luggage down," she announced, ignoring him, "and McGonagall wants to see you before you leave." Seeing Harry's pained glance at the tower containing Dumble... McGonagall's office, she smiled. "Don't worry, she's down here. In the gatehouse."

"Right." Harry's voice was resigned as he set off for the gatehouse. He had not yet told McGonagall about his plans not to return to Hogwarts, but he was fairly certain what she would say.

*      *      *

"Out of the question, Harry."

"Professor, I _can't_ stay. I wish I could — you know how much I like Hogwarts — but I have to find..."

"The Horcruces?" She raised an eyebrow at his shocked expression. "Don't look so surprised; Professor Dumbledore left a... a message for me about them. Moody knows as well. And you think that you're fully qualified to go hunting for four of them, when he took ten years to find two? Let me remind you that the first one nearly took his hand, and the second one, you will recall, practically killed him. No, Harry..."

"Professor..."

"_No_, Harry. You will complete your seventh year. I will expect to see you here in September, as usual. And you are quite emphatically _not_, if I may make this absolutely clear, to be dead at the time. Do I make myself understood?"

Harry couldn't tell if he was being reprimanded or given an affectionate caution; he simply nodded.

"I have asked Mr Weasley to arrange an Apparation examination for you during the summer; it is about time you get your licence. Oh, and if I were you I would not be surprised to find a representative from the Auror department visiting you at some point soon after young Mr Weasley's wedding. I have," she smiled lopsidedly, "been making _arrangements_."

"Oh... thank you!" Harry was stunned, but then another thought struck him. "Professor, will the school still be opening next term?"

"If I have any say in the matter, yes. This school has weathered worse storms."

"And..." He thought back to the funeral, and the toad-like form of Dolores Umbridge. "What was Umbridge doing at the funeral? Is the Ministry thinking of making her headmistress?"

"Good lord, no." McGonagall's face clearly showed her utter disdain for Umbridge. "That foul creature will not be getting anywhere near my school while I have any say in the matter. No, I have some degree of hope that the Governors will let me stay on in that capacity, but we shall see. But now," she remarked without a glance at the clock, "you must be off to the station."

Harry said his goodbyes and rushed to join the others, and a few moments later he was back with them as they hurried towards the last coach to Hogsmeade. Ginny and Hermione came to a wide-eyed stop as they approached.

"What the hell are _those_?" Ginny asked, pointing at the front of the coach.

"Thestrals," Harry said. "They've been there all along, but you can only see them if you've seen death —did you not do them in Magical Creatures a couple of years ago?"

"So that's what they look like..." Hermione breathed. "I always wondered... they're rather horrible, aren't they?"

"What?" asked Ron.

"The longer you can't see them, the better," said Harry quietly. "Be glad."

"Yeah," agreed Ginny. "At least I can only see them because I saw that Death Eater get killed."

"Wonder if it would work if I just strangled bloody Malfoy," Ron mused, eliciting a grim smile from Harry.

"Try it and see."

They loaded their luggage onto the rack and climbed in, Harry and Ginny studiously avoiding looking towards the front of the coach. Ron was staring hard at the shafts, squinting fiercely, as if he expected the thestrals to fade in if he looked hard enough.

"Ron, get in." Hermione had already taken her seat and was gesturing for him to sit beside her; Ginny and Harry were curled up together in the corner of the opposite bench.

"Oh... yeah." He clambered into the coach and sat next to her, unconsciously wrapping his hand around hers. With the Thestrals — or, at least, the void where the Thestrals were — out of sight, he seemed to lose interest in them. "Hey, Harry, what did McGonagall want?"

"She says I have to come back for seventh year." It was difficult, in the shadowy interior of the coach, to decide if the expression on Harry's face was one of disappointment or relief; it would probably have been difficult even in full daylight.

"She _is_ right, you know." Hermione, perhaps as a result of not feeling any need to bait Ron any more, was heading back to her old self. "It doesn't make sense to go after... _him_ without being fully trained."

"I suppose you're right. But still, I mean, I hate feeling as if I'm just waiting for Voldemort to come to me. Ron, what do you think?"

"I'm with you whatever you decide, mate, you know that. But I've got to agree — it's probably better to get your NEWTs first, make sure you're as well trained as you can get."

"Ginny, you're agreeing as well?"

Ginny, now lying across his lap, shrugged as she replied bluntly. "You'll live longer."

Harry sighed, resigning himself to another year on the defensive.

"All right. But as soon as I finish the year, I'll..."

"Remember what we said, Harry." Ginny interrupted quietly, staring at the ceiling.

"..._we'll_ set off to find the Horcruces. And Voldemort." His face darkened. "And we'll kill him, and his little Snape, too." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "And," he muttered, "I owe that bastard Malfoy for this..." As he sat there, stroking Ginny's hair, he was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that worried glance that passed between Hermione and Ron. But before they could say anything, Ron caught a glimpse of white wrought-iron railings outside the window.

"We're at the station, guys," he said, leaping out and starting to haul the trunks off the luggage rack. The others exited the coach rather more sedately and gathered their luggage before heading for the train.

"You're staying with us until the wedding, yeah?" Ron asked as they climbed aboard.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Hermione, you too? I think Mum's expecting you, anyway."

Hermione nodded. "What are we doing after that?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "I'll probably go and visit the Dursleys, get whatever stuff I've got left there, then off to Godric's Hollow." _And maybe find a Horcrux or two,_ he thought, _but there's no need to worry them with that._ "I think I need to get a new Fidelius charm set up around Number Twelve, too, now that Dumbledore's..." He seemed as if he was about to choke up, but composed himself and changed the subject. "Where's the wedding going to be now?"

"Well, they were talking about holding it in France, but with the security situation... I think they settled on just having it back at the Burrow. 'As soon as possible,' Mum said."

"Bet Fleur wasn't pleased about that," Harry smiled. "Or at least not the Burrow bit... here, let's take this compartment." They eased into the empty compartment and stowed their luggage, closing the door behind them.

"Oh, I dunno," Ginny said. "Mum's starting to like her more after that spectacle in the hospital wing. I'm not sure yet, but if she's as sincere as she seemed..."

"I might come around, if Ron could stop gawking at her as if he'd been clubbed over the head," Hermione said with a sideways glare at him.

"You can't really blame him for that, Hermione," Harry said. "She _is_ part Veela, remember—" Ron turned gratefully towards Harry, whose face was turning into a devious grin. Hermione looked doubtful, but she could tell they were leading up to something.

"—and he's a bit soft in the head," finished Ginny, grinning just as broadly.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, gaping. "It's not my fault!"

"No," Ginny agreed, grinning, "your head's got nothing to do with it."

Ron turned crimson, but before anyone could answer, the door slid open and Luna Lovegood drifted in, a vague frown creasing her otherwise vacant expression.

"Oh good," she smiled, seeing Ginny back in Harry's arms. "I knew you'd get back together... I'm _so_ glad. Has the food trolley passed? I'm a bit hungry... I think Neville just proposed to me."

"No, last time the trolley came round was an hour and a bit ago..." Hermione began. Then her brain caught up with her ears. "_What_?"

"Yes, I could tell they couldn't stay away from each other for long."

"No, no... I mean, Neville _proposed_?"

"Mmm," Luna nodded. "I think I accepted. Oh, are those chocolate frogs?"

Hermione gave no answer, but handed Luna the paper bag as she shot to her feet and marched back through the train. A moment later her voice echoed through the train.

"LONGBOTTOM!"

Ron shrank back in his seat, trying to avoid the vicarious embarrassment that would surely ensue, but Harry and Ginny just looked amused.

"Oooh, Neville's for it now," Ginny chuckled.

"Oh dear," Luna said. "Did I upset her?"

"Don't worry. I think she's just a bit overprotective." Ginny was trying — and failing — to suppress a grin. "She'll calm down soon."

"Oh, good." Luna swallowed a frog whole and smiled beatifically. She opened her satchel and withdrew the latest _Daily Prophet_.

"No _Quibbler_ today, Luna?" Harry finally spoke.

"I've already read it. Besides, you have to keep up with what's happening."

"But I thought you said never to believe anything in the papers?"

"Oh, I did. You just need to read what they're not writing."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded, shrugging his eyebrows. Much to his astonishment, Luna's comment made a strange sort of sense to him. Just then Hermione bustled back in, with a thoroughly chastised Neville in tow.

"Sit."

Neville did as he was ordered, parking himself protectively next to Luna. Hermione stood in front of them, arms akimbo, and glared. Ginny, realising what was to come, drew her wand and waved it at the door, muttering something. The door slid shut and locked; there was no sense in providing entertainment for the _whole_ train.

"Neville, you _proposed_?"

"Um...." Neville suddenly seemed extremely interested in his fingernails.

"And Luna, you _accepted_ his proposal?"

"Hmm? Yes.... Why?"

"Luna, you're _fifteen_, for heaven's sake! Neville, you're only sixteen! You can't get _engaged_!" The train jolted as it rumbled onto a bridge, throwing Hermione off her feet; she plonked back hard onto the seat. Even Ron could barely resist a chuckle, but a glare from Hermione wiped the smile off his face. Sitting up again and leaning towards them, she turned her attention back to Neville and Luna. "What were you _thinking_?"

Neville whimpered and seemed to be trying to sink through the back of his seat, but Luna's dreamy expression never wavered.

"I like him, he likes me. It seemed obvious."

"_You're fifteen!_"

"Yes," Luna said, matter-of-factly. "And we could be dead before I'm sixteen."

"Thanks for that, Luna," Harry muttered quietly.

"Always nice to hear that we're all going to die," Ginny agreed, leaning back onto Harry's lap, but none of the others showed any sign of having heard them. Hermione spluttered.

"So... Okay, I can understand your reasoning, and yes, you two are insane enough for each other, but still, getting _married_... and we never thought... I mean, you two have never seemed... um..."

Neville finally found his voice again.

"Well, we... we can if we want to!" He looked shocked at the vehemence in his own voice.

"Well..." Hermione was getting increasingly flustered. "Well, of course, but I never expected you two to... I mean, you never mentioned..."

"You've all been busy," Luna said simply. "Don't worry, I'm not surprised. You've been very distracted."

"I suppose..." Hermione was wavering. "But... you can't get married just because there's a war on!"

"You know, the highest marriage rate of the twentieth century, in Britain at least, was in 1940," said Luna.

"Well, yeah," Hermione admitted. "But that was because they didn't know if they'd ever see... oh. Well, I mean..." A thought struck her. "What about the... other aspects of that? Um."

"Other aspects?" Neville asked, turning white.

"Um... towards the middle and end of the war there was... um... well, it was called the Baby Boom." Hermione started turning red. Neville looked blank for a moment, then caught on and was soon a similar shade of scarlet.

"Oh." It was obviously not an aspect he had considered. "Um... I don't think that's anything to... er... worry about too much. We haven't discussed... um... We're not planning to... er..."

"I wonder what it would be like to have a family of my own," Luna said dreamily, clearly quite taken with the idea. Neville stared at her, panic-stricken.

"F.... family?"

"Mmm. We've got a cat at home. She had kittens last year, eight of them. She seemed very pleased about it."

"Blimey. Er..."

"Looks like _he's_ having kittens," Ginny whispered to Harry, who chuckled quietly.

"Neville," he said. "You're nuts, mate, but best of luck. And you'll invite us to the wedding, right?"

"Wedding..." Neville squeaked, nodding absently. "Yes... engaged... wedding..."

Luna smiled benevolently at him before sitting back with her newspaper. Her voice drifted softly out from behind it.

"September's such a nice month, don't you think?"

*      *      *

Fifty miles west of them as the train thundered towards London, a man was bleeding.

"Do you feel more inclined to tell us now, Mr Mopple?" The cloaked figure raised his cut-throat razor and made a small nick in the prostrate man's ear. "Or would you rather have a few more war wounds?"

"I... can't tell you..."

"Are you sure, Mr Mopple?" The voice was silky and, suddenly, oddly sympathetic. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes..."

"Be glad it hurts. It means you're not dead." The cloaked man knelt beside the wounded man, blood oozing from dozens of minute cuts. "I'm sure there's still a lot you can tell us."

Sixteen minutes later, it no longer hurt.


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were about to comment, the changed capitalisation - and in some cases modified spelling - of some canonical terms is deliberate. So I change things around a bit to make the language cleaner, smoother, and so on.
> 
> Oh, and sorry it's taking so long to update; I've been busy with a whole bunch of screenplays - original, not fanfic - so the fanfic's taken a back seat. Well, it's either that, or I'm hoping that if I delay long enough, my fic'll become as good as Nightmares of Futures Past. So it's probably the former.
> 
> I briefly considered combining this with Chapter Three, but decided against it - they don't match, and Three isn't quite finished yet. So this'll have to be a shorty, out of necessity rather than design.

##  **Chapter Two: The Beginning**

"There you are!"

Molly Weasley hurried up to them, spreading the crowd before her as if she were Charlton Heston, and caught them as they lugged their trunks off the train. Two large Aurors stood close behind her, dark glasses over their eyes and with their robes worn slightly open. One was short, bald and grim-looking, while the other, who looked permanently amused, appeared to be in his late twenties.

"Hurry up, now, the cars are waiting!" Barely pausing to give them a quick hug each, she bustled them through the barrier and out onto the concourse.

"Oh no," Hermione muttered under her breath, seeing what awaited them outside. "It's the cortege again..."

A few moments later they were safely ensconced in their car, and with a car in front and a car behind they set off.

"Why so much security?" Harry asked the grim Auror as they cruised easily through the rush-hour streets of London and out onto the M25; somehow, they always found their car to be where the traffic jam's weren't.

"Dumbledore deid, Death Eaters regrouping, Dementors at large, and a high-profile, high-risk magical wedding which a considerable portion of the anti-Voldemort forces will be attending? Tak' a guess." The Auror did not turn to Harry, just kept staring out through the windows as if he expected an attack at any moment. His voice could have been a soft southern Scottish lilt, had it not been a rock-hard, sharp southern Scottish snarl. "Things are turning nasty, Mr Potter."

"Oh, don't always sound so grim, Darwin." The other Auror chuckled. "With all the defences we've got in place, the Burrow's probably a safer place to be than even Hogwarts or the Ministry."

"Safer than the Ministry, aye." The first Auror's sneer reflected off the car window. "Would that be the same Ministry that had Voldemort and a pack of Deathies crawling around right inside it a year ago? Bloody right, safer'n a wet paper bag, but no' much."

"All right, fair point." The younger Auror grinned, tucking his shades into a pocket. "But we don't need to worry, do we? With you around."

"Shut it."

"See?" he grinned at Harry, gesturing to the gruff Auror. "He's _scary_. They won't dare get past him."

"Heads up," the driver called from the front seat, "we're here."

The three cars cruised in at the Burrow; the escort cars formed a cordon outside the gate while the centre car drifted up to the door.

"Wow..." Harry breathed, seeing the defences that had sprung up. The fence had been magically enhanced and was now nearly nine feet high, Aurors were dotted about the grounds, and from the spinney came a roar that sounded suspiciously like a dragon. "Not taking any chances, eh?"

"None at all, Mr Potter," Darwin growled as an Auror stepped up to the window and nodded. Darwin opened the door and stepped out, glaring at the surrounding trees as if daring them to attack. "All right, it's clear. You can debus now."

A small group of Aurors clustered around them, all looking outwards, and followed them to the door. Molly ushered the four kids inside with a mildly irritated glance at the Aurors.

"Mother Hen is in the coop," one of them muttered into his wrist, "Brood is clear."

Molly slammed the door, glaring at the Auror, then waved the kids to the table, where they sat. She sighed.

"Thank Merlin that's over." She waved her wand at the cooker and set a pot of hot chocolate going. "They've been all over us for the last fortnight — they even lock down Diagon Alley when we want to go shopping!"

She sank into her chair and finally seemed to relax slightly. But only for a moment; before anyone had a chance to speak, she launched into her next order of business.

"There's so much we need to get arranged for Bill's wedding... the guest lists, the food, the clothes — Ginny, I'll need your help with them — the chairs, all the preparations for the ceremony... We'll have to go to Diagon Alley to get some new robes for you, of course..." She finally spotted Harry valiantly trying to interject. "Yes, dear?"

"I need to go to Grimmauld Place. The Fidelius charm, it'll need to be re-activated now that Professor Dumbledore's... well..."

This stopped Molly a moment. A flash of recollection glanced across her face.

"Yes... yes, of course. Yes, um, Professor McGonagall sent a message about that. It arrived by owl just before we set off for the station."

"A message?"

"Yes... she said to send you over there when you arrived... she's got a few Order members together to help with the ritual."

"Bloody quick off the mark, isn't she?" Ron muttered, to a glare from his mother. "Just saying, Mum. Um. Organised. Yeah."

Harry glanced over the note. "When should I go?"

"No time like the present."

Harry nodded and walked uncertainly over to the fireplace. He threw a handful of powder into the flames and stepped into them, calling "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

*      *      *

The Minister for Magic was concerned. He had just read the latest report from the Ministry of Magical Defence, and found that readiness levels were far lower than hoped.

"So how many can we field right now?"

"Two partial-strength companies," the Secretary replied. "A hundred and fifty-three professional soldiers in all, but they're pretty much all special forces. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has the Dementors on side, that's not nearly enough. And that's without counting potential giants, gobbos and other Dark creatures."

"Do we have any intelligence on his forces?"

"Eighty-seven known Death Eaters at large, according to the DMLE. Forty-eight suspected, and who knows how many more."

"Allies?"

"We 're fairly sure he's got the Dementors, and we had a hundred and eighty of them at Azkaban. We know of at least thirty or forty werewolves, and there are rumours of a couple of dozen vampires. We don't know about the others yet."

Scrimgeour nodded.

"All right. Options?"

"We need to start conscripting."

"Do it. Quietly. Start with veterans from last time round, that should save some training. Give them an accelerated promotion scheme or something. And step up R&amp;D."

"Already done," the Secretary said. "MaginetiQ have some interesting wand technology that we're just about ready to issue."

"All right. Get it done. I want a full regiment ready by... Christmas, shall we say?"


	3. Grimmauld Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reckoned this one was probably complete enough to post. Chapter Eight, if anyone's interested, is almost finished, and a couple of the other ones further on are pretty close, too. And there's a particularly good bit in Chapter Six - pity I can't just post it as it is. Ah well.
> 
> Expect the next chapter at some point within fourteen or fifteen years, possibly. But it'll get there.

##  **Chapter Three: Grimmauld Place**

As the world resolved itself once more into the familiar kitchen, Harry stumbled out of the grate, dusting himself off. He was met by Remus Lupin, sprawled in a chair by the table.

"Glad you're here, Harry." He stood, picking up a clothes brush from the mantelpiece and brushing the soot off Harry's back. "The defence charms Dumbledore applied are still up, to some extent, but they're fading now that..." He turned abruptly away, replacing the brush. "Yes, well, we need to replace them, anyway. Come on, Mad-Eye and a few of the others are waiting upstairs."

They hurried up the stairs and turned into the hall; seeing the curtained painting at the end of the hall, Harry subconsciously quietened his steps to avoid waking the almost rabidly petulant portrait.

Remus gestured wordlessly to one of the studies. Creeping in, they found seven plush armchairs; as he rounded them, he found three of them occupied by Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks and Professor McGonagall.

"He's here," Remus announced, taking his seat and indicating to another one for Harry.

"Harry," McGonagall began, "you know what we need to sort out today?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, making himself comfortable. "The Fidelius charm, the ward systems..."

"We've already started on the wards," Moody interrupted, "you don't need to worry about them. It's mainly the Fidelius charm you're concerned with — it's your house, it makes sense to have you as Secret-Keeper."

Harry nodded. "So what do I do?"

"It's all set up in the Drawing Room," Remus said. "The preparatory rites have been completed, we just need to activate the charm."

"When you're ready," McGonagall added.

Harry rose reluctantly from his chair. "Let's go, then."

The others stood, and Harry trooped after them.

As he entered the Drawing Room, it struck him that several of the shelves and cabinets looked significantly emptier than when he had seen them last.

"What happened to all the stuff?" Then he remembered the incident in Hogsmeade. "Oh — Mundungus..."

"Mundungus," spat McGonagall with a nod. "He's been selling things that were, strictly speaking, not entirely his to sell."

"I didn't think he'd got so much," Harry said, looking stricken. He pulled himself together, and tried to affect an airy tone. "Oh well — no great loss, is it? Half of that stuff we're probably better off without, right?" He glanced desperately at them. "Right?"

"Don't be too sure," Moody frowned. "Many of them were Dark artefacts — and I know I prefer to have things like that where I can keep an eye on them."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Harry agreed, downcast. His eyes were drawn to one of the cabinets, and the unfaded space in the dust where a heavy locket had once lain.

He blinked.

A memory drifted into the back of his mind.

A memory of a heavy gold locket, engraved with an ornate, curling, serpentine S, hanging around the neck of Merope Gaunt.

A memory of that same locket lying on the velvet shelf in the glass-fronted cabinet.

"I... the locket..."

"What is it?" Remus looked concerned.

"The locket that was here. I've seen it before, it's one of the..." He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's admonition. "It's important," he finished lamely. Moody frowned, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of understanding cross McGonagall's face, but the other two glanced blankly at him.

"Mundungus," Moody growled. "As I said. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Constant..."

"We'll get back to that later, Alastor." McGonagall stepped forward into the sigil chalked on the varnished wood floor. "For now we need to get on with the ritual — Harry, if you would stand here."

Harry moved to the centre of the sigil, while the others took their places around its edge. Remus tossed Harry a heavy, ancient brass key. It looked blank, as if it had never been intended to be used.

"That's the key for this house," he explained.

Harry looked confused. "But it's got no teeth!"

"Oh yes, you haven't come through the front door for a couple of years now, have you... There's no keyhole in the door, remember?"

"But... then what does this do?"

"The ritual, like many designed to protect buildings, requires a key to the house," McGonagall said, "and this house has been protected by various charms on many occasions through its history. One of the Black ancestors had this key made specifically for the ritual. It has no _practical_ function."

"Oh." Harry turned the key over in his hands. "What do I do?"

The four wizards drew their wands and pointed them outwards at the four corners of the house.

"Just stand there, hold your wand to the key. Just say _custos occultus sum_ at the conclusion of the rite. You'll know when."

"Um... right," Harry muttered, feeling particularly useless.

The four started murmuring, each in turn.

"_Custodiam aquilo_," McGonagall began.

"_Custodiam auster_," Moody continued.

"_Custodiam eurus_," Tonks added.

"_Custodiam zephyr_," Remus finished.

They turned in towards the centre and trained their wands on Harry.

"_Hunc locum custodimus Fidelius ratione_," they chorused, "_et Harry Potter creamus Arcanorum Custodem ac Clavium Magistrum. Tum iussa ex eius verbis agnita sint. Consensi sumus. _"

"_Custodiat..._"

"_...protegat..._"

"_ ...tueatur locum..._"

"_...contra pericula. _"

As Remus finished the incantation, a beam of blue light shot from each wand, converging on the key. It flared with an actinic light, but despite the blinding glare Harry could not tear his eyes from it.

"_Custos Occultus sum,_" he whispered, awed.

"_Incantatem in clave occludo. _" There was a bright white flash from the key and the light died down. Harry wobbled a bit, and he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Harry." Harry gulped; he had not even realised he had been holding his breath.

"Right," he nodded breathlessly. "Breathe. Right." He turned to find Remus' smiling face.

"Well, what did you think of that, Harry?"

"Um... bright. So... that's a Fidelius charm, then?"

"The conclusion of it, yes," McGonagall said, manoeuvring Harry towards a seat. "There are about two hours of preparatory charms and wards, but we only needed you here for the ending."

"And the paperwork," Tonks grinned, appearing with a stack of cards and a quill. "The previous charm's gone, so you'll need to tell everyone where we are. Remember the note you got from Dumbledore? We need you to write one of them for everyone in the order, or they won't be able to get in. Okay?"

"Is that secure?" Harry asked.

"With that quill it is," muttered Moody. "_I've_ enchanted it. As long as you write the recipient's name, they're the only ones who'll be able to read it."

A small table was pushed in front of him, and Harry leaned over the cards. The first one, he noticed, was a list of names.

He settled down to write.

*      *      *

An hour later, Harry signed the last of the cards.

"Is that the lot?" he asked tiredly, putting the quill down and resting his forehead on the table. But he got little rest — a moment later, a voice forced him to his feet again.

"This way, Harry," Remus was saying. "There's someone I want you to meet." He indicated the stairs to the cellar.

"Who?"

"Your house-elf."

Harry grimaced. "I already know Kreacher, and I'd rather not."

"It's not him," Remus chuckled. "Rilly Bay — he's Kreacher's son. And since his daddy worked here he came along."

"A house-elf with a surname?"

"More of a moniker, really. He's an odd one."

They continued down to the cellar, where they found a cupboard door ajar. A muffled, slightly tinny noise came from within, possibly music, and a reedy voice apparently singing along.

"_...by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's elf, no time to talk..._"

"Brace yourself," Remus grinned. "You've never met a house-elf like this."

"I can't imagine any house-elf stranger than Dobby," Harry grinned back.

"Trust me, Harry." He knocked on the frame of the cupboard. The noise stopped abruptly, and a moment later a house-elf appeared just outside with a sharp crack, left leg bent, right arm pointing to the floor, left arm thrust skywards. He pirouetted, spinning twice, before landing on one knee, jazz hands out in front of him.

And Lupin had been right. It was a very weird elf.

He was slightly shorter than Dobby, but he was clearly very young by house-elf standards; his pale skin was practically unwrinkled. His huge shining eyes were largely hidden behind a pair of dark, elaborate glasses, and while he wore the traditional pillowcase, it had been heavily modified.

It was a deep purple, with rich gold piping and glossy black lapels. The little elf bore an expression that suggested that, if he had hair, he would have grown the largest sideburns he could.

"Yo?"

"Harry, this is Rilly. Rilly — Harry Potter, the new owner of Grimmauld Place."

"Harry Potter..." Much like Dobby all those years ago, Rilly seemed in awe. "Rilly has heard much of Harry Potter, fo' sho'. Defender of house-elves, buster of caps in evil Malfoys..."

Harry stared, stunned. "Wow."

"Rilly is the son of Kreacher and one of the many long-deceased house-elfs," Remus explained. "He takes after Padfoot in many ways... a bit of a rebel, in fact. I'm not sure where he got his Muggle tastes from, but it seems that whatever the Blacks wanted him to do, he did the opposite."

"I thought that was impossible for a house-elf?"

"Normally, yes. Even Dumbledore wasn't sure why — in theory, Rilly should be like any elf. But I quite like the little scamp."

"Master Wolfie, Rilly is standing right here," Rilly said reproachfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Rilly. He's one of those not entirely rare occasions where I gleefully ignore canon and extrapolate wildly based on what's mentioned in the books and take it to its logical, illogical, or just plain bonkers extremes. I like to think that everything I write is at least vaguely plausible... or at least more plausible than Harry/Draco. So I can probably get away with almost anything.
> 
> As for the Fidelius charm, thanks go to Cielo De Alcamo on the FictionAlley Park forums; I've made some revisions for sound and flow since then, so if the Latin's messed up it's my fault. My excu... pretext is that the spells don't tend to be straight over from Latin, they tend to be bowdlerised in the process.


	4. Full Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! An update! A shock, I know - you'll find the defibrillators under your seats.
> 
> But now the wedding's out of the way, and that's the difficult bit. I'm *lousy* at that stuff. So with any luck I'll get back into the swing of things, and now with some DH backstory to work into it...

##  **Chapter Four: Full Circle**

A week later, the Burrow had been transformed. Molly had gone to town over the opportunity to marry off one of her brood, and the garden was festooned with garlands, flowers and lamps. A large sigil, twenty feet across, had been marked out on the lawn, and rows of tables were set up in the paddock for the ensuing celebrations. Ron wore highly-starched dress robes that looked horrendously uncomfortable, while Harry seemed to grow several inches of sheer posture.

"This is why I hate weddings," Ron said, adjusting his cravat with a grimace. "And all the slushy stuff..."

"That's just because you're utterly unromantic, Ron," came Hermione's smiling voice from behind him.

He spun round — and stared.

Hermione wore a deep blue dress, and had somehow managed to smooth her hair; presumably with some kind of obscure charm, though it was fighting a losing battle at the tips.

"Wow... All right," Ron muttered, "and that would be why I like weddings."

Harry grinned at Ron's reaction, took a swig of butterbeer — then propelled most of it onto the lawn when he saw Ginny.

"..." he said, his brain temporarily incapable of speech. He tried again. "You're..." He faltered. "..."

She certainly was. A smirk crossed her lips at Harry's reaction, and she swirled the skirt of her dark green dress as she approached to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yes I am," she whispered as she drew back.

Harry was about to retort with something devastatingly romantic — or at least he hoped he was, as he could feel his mouth starting to form words without any conscious input from his brain — when a general commotion from the crowd near the door indicated that they should head for their places.

The guests formed a large circle around the sigil marked on the lawn, those who didn't fit standing back to observe. Harry managed to stand next to Ginny, who surreptitiously caught his hand and held it.

"What happens now?" he asked her.

"We wait. Mum should be out any..."

The circle opened as Molly Weasley approached from the house. She looked more authoritative than usual, dressed in a heavy white robe and with an old, burnished gold diadem on her head. She carried a small cauldron in one hand, and a broomstick on the other. The circle closed behind her, and there was silence.

She approached the edge of the sigil and paused, bowing towards the centre. She laid the broomstick on the ground, forming a sort of doorway into the sigil, and stepped over it.

She strode across to the other side of the sigil, carefully avoiding the runes drawn in the centre of it, and took up her place on the far edge. She glanced around the circle, then took a few paces forward and, muttering under her breath, put the cauldron in the dead centre of the circle. From it, she drew a black, long-bladed knife, and tucked it up her sleeve before returning to her spot.

"What's she doing?" Harry whispered to Ginny.

"Preparing the circle," Ginny whispered back. "It's all symbolic. The knife, the cauldron, the broomstick, all the symbols... I'll explain them some time. When you're not likely to get embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? Why should I be..." Harry cut himself off as he saw Molly raise her hands. She chanted something in a language that Harry vaguely recognised as Latin — or was it Greek? — but couldn't decipher. Then she pointed at what Harry had mentally classified the "south end" of the circle, where two gaps opened to let Bill and Fleur through.

They made a curious couple; Bill, with his scarred face and brand new black robe beside Fleur, who seemed to float in draped in a light grey, almost silver dress that somehow managed to be both loose and form-fitting at once. But a couple they were, and they walked across the sigil, passing on either side of the cauldron, before joining hands once they were past it and covering the final steps to stand before Molly.

They spoke for a minute or two in muted tones, inaudible to Harry where he stood.

"What are they saying?"

"Don't know exactly," Ginny whispered. "It's basically just a sort of 'are you sure' thing, I think."

Then the two held out their hands to Molly, who withdrew the knife from her sleeve and carefully cut a small nick on first Bill's palm, then Fleur's. She bent down, driving the knife deep into the soil and leaving it there, then stood again and clasped Bill and Fleur's hands together.

They turned to each other, and Bill kissed Fleur nine times; first he dropped to one knee to kiss her on the feet, the knees and just below her navel, before rising to kiss her chest and, finally, her lips. He stood, glanced at Molly — who nodded — and kissed Fleur once more on the lips... this time rather less dispassionately than the ritual kisses he had just given her. Then they turned out, towards the centre of the circle, and were greeted with loud applause.

Harry, of course, was flummoxed.

"Why are we applauding?" he asked Ginny, clapping along.

"They're married."

"What, that's it?"

"We're not big on ceremony."

"I thought there'd be, y'know, more talking."

"Well," she said, flushing slightly, "it's not _completely_ finished."

At the head of the circle, Molly cleared her throat and spoke, raising her voice for the first time that morning.

"Bill and Fleur Weasley!" she called, and was met with yet more applause, which took some time to die down. Once again, she raised her hands for silence. "The Great Rite will take place in a few moments, so it's probably time for the happy couple to go indoors. The rest of you — the buffet's open under the marquee in the paddock."

Bill and Fleur, still holding hands, strode forward, leapt over the cauldron, and with a quick skip over the broomstick, headed towards the Burrow, cheers and applause following them.

Then, as soon as the door closed, everyone seemed to forget about them — and, catching a whiff of the smells drifting from the marquee, Harry could see why.

Ginny caught his hand again and started pulling him towards the field, joining up with Ron and Hermione on the way. Ron, as soon as he left the circle, started tugging at his cravat, pulling it loose and tucking it in a pocket.

"When we... I get married, I'd rather go traditional than all these bloody ties and things," he muttered.

Hermione shot him an odd look, then looked away and continued walking as a speculative smile faded onto her lips. But her speculations didn't last long; Harry had been wondering about something.

"What was that last bit about?" he asked, looking at no one in general.

"What?"

"That 'great rite' stuff."

"Oh." Ron started turning pink, but Hermione was blushing bright red. "Well... the Great Rite is... all right, look at it this way: for a Witch wedding to be valid, the marriage must be... um... consummated."

Harry looked at her blankly. "Consummated?"

"Um. And... that's sort of the Great Rite."

("I reckon their marriage has been valid for a while already," Ginny chuckled, so low that only Harry could hear her.)

"You mean..." Harry started to blush as well. "You mean I just heard Mrs Weasley — _your mum_, Ron — tell Bill and Fleur to go upstairs and..."

Ron and Hermione nodded, both glaring intently at the ground.

"Bloody hell... Muggle weddings aren't quite so... well, _direct_ about things, are they?"

"No," Hermione said resolutely, "they're not."

Ginny could no longer hold in a snort of laughter.

"I don't see why you're all so embarrassed about it," she said. "I mean, that's the whole point, isn't it? More little witches and wizards?" She grinned, shooting an evil glance at Ron. "And I know for certain that you're no stranger to it."

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione sniffed, though she didn't manage to stop a nervous glance at Ron.

Ginny just grinned.

"If you say so. But just a thought for future reference — silencing charms. Come on, the rest of us need our sleep!"

Harry couldn't stand it any longer, and burst out laughing. A fraction of a second later, Ginny collapsed, giggling, on his sleeve. Hermione just huffed and strode on ahead, pulling Ron with her.

*      *      *

They spent the next few hours at the reception, eagerly tucking in to the enormous quantity of food Mrs Weasley and her battalion of relatives had prepared. Ginny had to reluctantly admit to a mild addiction to the _brioches_ that Fleur had contributed — "It doesn't mean I like her any better, mind you. She just really knows how to bake, that's all I'm saying."

Bill and Fleur finally joined the party an hour and a half later. They seemed curiously flushed, and they had changed into rather more relaxed clothes.

"Enjoyed yourself?" Molly called as they approached.

Bill just nodded, colouring slightly, but Fleur smiled dreamily. "Ah, _oui_..."

Harry could tell that Ginny was preparing to tease them, but she was interrupted by Mr Weasley scurrying up to them.

"Harry? You wanted to go back to those relatives of yours, didn't you?"

"Well, 'wanted' is perhaps a bit strong..."

"I just got the car —" his voice dropped to a conspiratorial hiss "— finished this morning, a replacement for the Anglia. If you like, we can go now, and get it over with."

"Well, we're not exactly dressed for it..."

"Oh, you can head up and get changed," he said. "We'll go as soon as you're ready — I'll be in the shed. Don't worry about anything, I'll let them know we're coming." He lowered his voice even further, and glanced furtively around to make sure Mrs Weasley was out of earshot before continuing. "I managed to get a phoneytell set up in my workshop..." And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

"Well," Ginny observed, "seize the day?"

And so, twenty minutes later, the four of them watched as Mr Weasley swung open the doors of the shed.

"Isn't she a beauty?"

In the shed, lovingly polished and traditionally dented, stood a Land Rover.

"A 1987 Land Rover One-Ten County!" Mr Weasley enthused. "Original Cairns Blue paintwork! All original interior! 'Mod' tyres, whatever they are, and complete with a fully functioning light... thing at the back!"

"It's... um... very nice," Harry said politely.

"These are _incredibly_ bad for the environment," Hermione muttered.

"_Cooool_," said Ron.

*      *      *

"Isn't it marvellous?" Mr Weasley bellowed over the rumble of the engine, the rattle of the bodywork and the roar of the tyres as they cruised along the road out of Ottery St Catchpole. "You can really feel that you're driving in one of these!"

"Can it fly, like the Anglia?" Harry asked from the passenger seat. On the road, it was wobbling a bit too much for his liking.

"Of course!" Mr Weasley grinned like a kid on Christmas Eve. "Just need to get it going fast enough!"

The engine rose to a howl like a jet turbine as he revved the aging diesel.

"Let's see if we can't get up to forty!"

"Oh god," Hermione muttered to herself in the back seat, where she sat clutching Ron's arm. "We're all going to die."

*      *      *

As they drew up in the Land Rover outside number 4, Privet Drive, Harry leaned over to Mr Weasley.

"Keep the engine running," he shouted over the racket, "I'll only be a few moments!" He gestured to the three in the back seat, and they leapt out and followed him up the path.

"Hermione, you come with me and wait by the door. Ron and Ginny, hang back a bit and keep a few stunners ready... I'd rather we didn't need them, at least until we're all of age, but Uncle Vernon was a bit skittish last time I saw him, and he might not be very pleased to see me." Nodding, the two Weasleys backed off and made themselves inconspicuous by pushing a few inches into the huge Leylandii hedge. Harry strode to the door and rang the bell.

The door swung open, revealing Vernon Dursley's ample bulk and matching moustache. For some reason he was wearing his Sunday best — by his standards, at least — and the alluring smell of a roast drifted from the kitchen.

On a Tuesday afternoon.

It is generally considered that Tuesday — and particularly Tuesday afternoon — is the least interesting, least mystical, and all-round least significant time of the week, bar none (except that awful moment every Sunday evening when you suddenly realise that _bugger_, tomorrow's going to be bloody Monday again). It is therefore not surprising that Harry's expression betrayed his surprise.

"Harry! Dear boy!" Dursley flung the door wide open and gestured jovially into the house.

_Okay,_ Harry thought, gaping, the snide reply he had prepared sticking in his throat, _this is weird._

"We've all been _so_ looking forward to your arrival!"

_That's a first._ Vernon had by now clamped a pudgy hand on Harry's shoulder and ushered him in.

"Sixteen years and you're finally leaving us!"

_Ah._

That explained it. No Dursley in their wrong mind would be that delighted to see Harry for any other reason. The smart clothes — _Everything is relative,_ he reminded himself — and the cooking smell suggested that there was some form of celebration planned for that evening, and Harry knew better than to ask if he was invited. And anyway, he had no particular wish to stay any longer than he had to.

"I'll... um... just collect my stuff," he muttered, rushing up the stairs, trunk dragging behind him, as he mentally switched gears. He had expected more of an argument. Oh well, that would come soon enough...

*      *      *

"Come on," he said quietly but urgently as he hurried out through the front door less than five minutes later, dragging his now full trunk and carrying a long, rectangular box. The Dursleys, by the sound of it, were all out in the back garden; there seemed to be some clinking involved, with a certain glassy quality to it.

"Harry, what..."

"Later. Into the car, quickly."

Hermione caught the edge in his voice and scurried faster, grabbing one end of the trunk and lifting it. Ginny and (to Harry's surprise) Ron also seemed to have noticed the urgency; Ginny was already strapping herself in, and Ron had swung open the door to the luggage area. As Harry and Hermione deposited the luggage and Ron climbed into the Land Rover, Vernon appeared in the doorway.

"Leaving so soon?" he called, chuckling. "Good riddance to you!" Then their urgency seemed to bash through even his somewhat clouded head and, frowning suspiciously, he ducked back into the house.

Hermione was already slamming her door as Harry swung himself back into the passenger seat.

"I think we should go right about _now_," he said, and Mr Weasley stepped on the accelerator just as Vernon came storming out onto the porch, purple in the face.

"BLASTED INGRATE! GET BACK HERE!" they heard him shout as they turned the corner; a moment later, they were airborne and safely on their way.

"Um, Harry?" Ginny sounded curious rather than worried, and the others seemed more exhilarated by their brisk departure than concerned about Harry's uncle and his bout of apoplexy. "Why was he so annoyed all of a sudden?"

"Oh, you know..."

"Does it have anything to do with that box?"

"Well..."

"Harry," enquired Mr Weasley quietly — or as quietly as the Land Rover would allow, at least — "you didn't do anything illegal, did you? You know, hex anyone, give that great lump pigtails or something?" Harry thought for a moment he detected a hint of amusement on his face, as if nothing would please him more than to find the entire family transformed into skrewts.

"I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it is an attempt to incriminate me," Harry grinned. "But don't worry, I'll show you all later. I have a plan."

"As soon as we get home, then. I'm on tenterhooks."

"Hang on, though, why was he so chummy when you arrived, then?" Ron asked.

"'Sixteen years and you're finally leaving us,' the git." Harry frowned. "They were out in the back garden with champagne and a roast."

"So... they're having a party to celebrate being shot of you?" Ron sounded confused.

"Pretty much, yeah. I hadn't expected them to be so obvious about it, though."

"Funny, really," said Hermione in a voice that suggested it was not at all funny. "Ron, your Mum cooks a slap-up dinner to celebrate Harry arriving."

"Check your seat belts," Arthur interrupted, turning the wheel. "Landing in a few minutes." The Land Rover started descending through the clouds.

> _(Meanwhile, the captain of a passing 737 glanced down, blinked twice, rubbed his eyes and swore to himself to cut down on the late-night cheese.)_

*      *      *

The spluttering machine hove into the driveway at the Burrow an hour later and shuddered to a halt. After unloading the luggage and conducting some mystical preparations in the cellar, Harry brought the rectangular box into the kitchen, where his accomplices from The Great Dursley Rescue waited. Ginny, having concluded a quick reconnaissance, came in through the door just as he sat down.

"Is Mrs Weasley not here?" He sounded surprised.

"No, she took the floo to Diagon Alley ten minutes ago." Ginny grinned, holding up a small cardboard box. "Fred and George are getting a _chat_..."

"Why?"

"She didn't appreciate her Yorkshire puddings growing legs and faces and making a run for it." Ginny was now clearly enjoying the joke. "And that was before the spaghetti got up of its own accord and lassoed Crookshanks' tail." She sighed. "The world's not ready for Waking Lunch Powder."

Harry chuckled at the thought of perambulatory patisserie, but he forced himself to stop grinning. He opened the box, revealing a number of bundles wrapped in flower-patterned flannel.

"Just as well she's not here to see this — she probably wouldn't approve. I got these as part of my plan — and now that I'm gone Uncle Vernon won't be needing them. He got one a few years back, just when I got my Hogwarts letter. I guess he wanted to make sure that one way or another he got me out of his house."

Hermione seemed to have figured it out, but the others were still staring blankly at the flowery bundles.

"It's a gun, isn't it?"

"Thus speaks the Muggle-born," Harry grinned. "And almost right, except that it's _seven_ guns."

"_Seven?!_" Hermione sounded shocked, and Ron and Ginny were looking more and more confused. Mr Weasley was frowning.

"What on earth do you need them for, Harry? And why did _he_ have so many?"

"'She probably wouldn't approve'..." Ron muttered. "Harry, she'd have a bloody _fit_!"

Harry unpacked the bundles onto the table, explaining as he went.

"He bought the first one when my Hogwarts letters started coming. Took the whole lot of us out to a little island in the middle of nowhere and tried to keep us all away from magic. Hagrid turned up anyway and tied a knot in the gun. But when I got back after first year he'd bought a new shotgun and a second-hand revolver, probably one that — hrm — 'fell off the back of a truck'. I suppose he wanted to be sure he could get rid of me any time he wanted. Presumably he saw it as protecting his family.

"Dudley told me — he seemed far too keen on the idea, if you ask me — he told me that after Dobby's little joke with the cake, Vernon was pretty close to sneaking into my room and shooting me while I slept. He didn't, but still. He just kept buying more and more guns, never told Aunt Petunia about them, but _Dudders_ of course could never be left in the dark." He glanced up, looking mildly disgusted. "There were probably another dozen or so in the cabinet, but I couldn't carry them all. I knew he'd gone round the twist, but I hadn't realised he was quite that far gone. As for why _I_ want them... I'll tell you about that closer to the time; for now we'll just get them locked up."

"You can't tell us at least a bit more?"

"Well, put it like this. Voldemort has counter-curses and defensive spells against everything magic can throw at him. But he doesn't think Muggle things are worth bothering about. He won't have a defence against... oh, wossname, it's on one of Dudley's t-shirts... '671 grains of diplomacy'."

"Grain? You're going to kill him with cereal?" Ron looked utterly befuddled.

"Never mind, Ron." Harry grinned. "Let's just get these stashed... Mr Weasley, could you hide them in the cellar or something?"

Hermione stared at Harry, an expression of fascinated horror on her face.

"You're... going to shoot Voldemort!"

"Yes."

"Using the same guns your uncle was wanting to kill you with?"

"It's not the gun that matters, it's what you do with it."

"Well," Hermione muttered, "at least your sense of dramatic irony can't be faulted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always been rather annoyed by the fandom habit of having ordinary - or worse, American-style - weddings based on the Judeo-Christian tradition, and so while I could easily see wizarding couples having low-key bog-standard C of E weddings, I reckoned it would be more interesting to concoct something more... wizardy from a mishmash of customs derived from real witch weddings.
> 
> Oh, and guess who drives a 1987 Land Rover? That's right, my own little runabout is an ex-RAF 90, and it's lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> This is still a work in progress, and may be subject to revision; I haven't decided yet, for instance, whether or not to explain why Hermione can see the Thestrals or just to leave it - as far as I'm concerned, a great-aunt of hers died in February. Close enough to count, not close enough to upset her a great deal... In other words, narrative cheating. :-D


End file.
